Stars in A Sky of Blood and Blue
by Nehszriah
Summary: Sequel to In Want of An Heir: the lives of the Marquis Johan and Marchioness Clara, together the Twelfth Doctor of Gallifrey and Kasterborous, and their children throughout the years. [nobility/kids Whouffaldi AU; prior reading of IWoAH is recommended]
1. Lena (I)

A/N: This is a direct sequel to my previous story _In Want of An Heir_. That being said, I highly recommend you read that one first before you read this one, or else you're missing out on a ton of context. These chapters are likely to be non-linear and of sporadic updates.

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><p><span><strong>Stars in A Sky of Blood and Blue<strong>

Chapter One: _Lena (I)_

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far away, was the March of Kasterborous. It was a vast, hearty land with enduring peoples and folk traditions that stretched back beyond their association with King and Country. In the capital city of Gallifrey sat the ruling house; Lord Johan, Thirteenth Marquis of Kasterborous and Gallifrey, and his wife the Lady Clara were well known throughout the lands as an arranged and impossible match made most loving. Together they bore the duty of being the Twelfth Doctor, a folk title older than the marquisate that had never been shared before, until Johan decided to make his wife the embodiment of his symbolic second heart. They became legend, the Marquis and Marchioness, in both their love for one another and the way in which they ruled the march.

That story, however, is for a different time.

This story begins one day in Spring, shortly before the sixth anniversary of the Marquis and Marchioness's wedding. The Marchioness, having long been large with child, was finally in need of the midwife after nearly two weeks of her husband fussing over her and putting all affairs of the state on hold. Her first pains came during a storm, with her finally delivering after the thunder quieted and it had been raining steadily for a whole day. The Marquis stayed in his bedchamber, which had been converted into the nursery much to everyone's surprise, waiting with sweaty hands and a nervous stomach as he listened to every effort his wife made. Eventually he heard a child—_his_ child—cry out in protest and he slumped into a nearby chair. The intense calm that came afterwards nearly lulled him to sleep, until the midwife entered the room.

"Sir?" was all she said. The Marquis jolted awake and stood up quickly, his cape sweeping behind him as he crossed the room and entered the bedchamber.

A wave of emotion washed over him as he stood just beyond the entrance, staring at the bed before him and its occupants. His wife was deathly pale and shaking as she sat upright with a bundle cradled in her arms. A closer inspection found that the bundle indeed held a newborn babe, pink and fresh and suckling milk with a grand ferocity, the sight of which made the Marquis freeze in place. It was a scene he never thought he'd see, even on the day he married, for back then he did not wish to risk watching another wife convulse to death while a child slipped away in his arms after refusing a nurse. He did not want that even for his worst enemy, which made the mother and babe, both alive and well, seem all the more beautiful and haunting.

"Are you… well…?" he asked nervously, nearly choking on his words. The Marchioness looked up at him and smiled weakly.

"Of course I am." She turned down to the child at her breast and sighed. "Look, it's your papa. He's come to visit us." Her breath was quiet and trembling—the lack of energy in her was apparent. The Marquis sat down at their side and kissed her on the brow.

"Thank you," he said, taking her hand in his. They both looked at one another, one tired from strain and the other from stress.

"Would you like to hold her?"

The Marquis blinked, his eyes growing wide and eyebrows rising at the very idea. "Would you like me to?"

"Yes, please," she nodded, pulling her shirt back over her chest. Watching as her husband awkwardly held out an arm, she passed him the newborn and did not pull away until the child was firmly in place.

Cautiously, the new father pressed a finger to his daughter's nose, making her squirm slightly. "What's her name?" he asked. His wife shook her head.

"I'm too tired to think," she admitted. "Please name her; I need to rest."

"…but, we should name her together, if you haven't already," he insisted, panicking. The Marchioness simply slid down the mattress until she was nestled into the bedding.

"I trust you," she said hazily. "I haven't slept in over two days. Just think about it until she needs to be fed again, okay?"

"Okay," he answered quietly. The Marquis watched as his wife happily went to sleep, leaving their daughter to him, the midwife, and the few maids that were bustling around the room cleaning up the odds and ends from the birth. The maids soon left, which allowed the midwife to tower over the Marquis.

"Milord? I think it's time to pass the child to me now," she said. He shook his head.

"Leave us," he requested. The Marquis stood up and began to pace the room, yet the midwife stayed.

"Sir, are you sure you know what you are doing?" she asked.

"I am meeting my daughter and heir—of course I know what I am doing," he replied. "Leave us, now." The midwife curtsied sourly and left. Once the door was closed and footsteps were no longer heard in the corridor, the Marquis sank down into an armchair to combat his shaky knees and vision blurred from tears. He glanced down at his daughter, only to find that she had yawned herself to sleep.

"Mama and Papa aren't the only ones that are tired, huh?" he asked. The baby wriggled weakly in his grasp, unable to move beyond what her blanket allowed. Rain hit the windowpanes in a sound that soothed the flutter in the Marquis's chest.

'_…now what?_'

The new father looked around the room, not entirely sure of what to do. His newborn daughter needed a name, and his wife trusted him to come up with the perfect one after months of refusing to discuss in fear of laying a curse upon their unborn child. He was good at things like naming defense strategies and strongholds, not children who would end up growing into the leader of thousands of soldiers and even more smallfolk.

"Not only will you be a great Marchioness and a beloved Doctor, but you're also my daughter," he murmured to the sleeping child. He ran one of his long fingers over her wisps of hair affectionately. "You are the symbol of the love between your mama and me. You are the stars in our sky, and I want to do everything to protect you as you grow into a beautiful and awe-inspiring leader."

He paused momentarily, leaning back into his chair as he thought aloud. "You need a name that is both strong and gentle, one that can be a rallying cry or a soft whisper. It needn't be complicated nor plain, and should be _you _most of all." A long silence filled the room as he stared at his child, the only noise being the sustained rain outside. Finally, the corner of his mouth twitched upwards and his teeth bared.

He knew his daughter's name.

Hours passed and the Marchioness slept on. Servants came in every so often to make sure the Marquis did not need sleep himself. Every time he would shake his head, though present his daughter proudly. Between servants checking in, the Marquis alternated between murmuring gentle poems and songs in the ceremonial tongue while he sat, and pacing around the room while humming. He was sitting, reciting old, odd words only the sleeping newborn could hear, when his wife finally woke.

"Hey…" the Marchioness said softly. The Marquis rose to his feet immediately and quickly crossed the room to sit on the side of the bed next to her.

"How are you feeling? Do you need to see the physician?" he asked. She shook her head slowly, her eyes still glazed over from exhaustion.

"I'm fine. How about you, Papa? Did you come up with a name while Mama slept?"

"That was the easy part—you did all the work, dearest," he said. The Marquis picked up his wife's hand and kissed the back of it, gazing into her eyes. He glanced back down at the child nestled in the crook of his arm and grinned. "Lena."

"Lena?" The Marchioness snapped awake, her whole body tensing. "Why '_Lena'_?"

"It's an old Gallifreyan name," her husband explained. He returned his attention to their child and smiled softly. "In the beginning, there was only the sun. Night was black as pitch, and it was dangerous to go out. One night, a man prayed to his gods by the light of a fire. He wished nothing more than to see without the dangerous flame as he walked from his home to the stream behind his house for water. It would be useful for all—not just him—he reasoned, and soon the sky illuminated with a beautiful full moon and swirls of stars in the red sky."

The Marquis looked over at the Marchioness, to see how attentive she was. When he saw that her face remained glued to his, although quizzical, he continued. "When the man arrived home that night, he found his young son crying. The boy saw his mother and sister step outside and shimmer until they burst into a billion white pieces that flew up in the air and did not come down. He said his mother was the moon and his sister the stars. It was only then that the man realized what he had done: that he had broken his family for the benefit of walking at night without the aid of a flame. His wife's name was Luna, but his daughter was Lena. When we say people are 'the moon and stars in the sky', it's that legend we refer to."

"My mother was '_Elena'_," the Marchioness said quietly. Her husband glanced over at her, seeing that her eyes were lowered to her hands as she played with a fingernail. "She died when I was small. Father and I don't talk about her, but that doesn't mean I love her any less. She was a good soul, who liked everyone, and we… we just miss her."

"Then '_Lena'_ it is," he replied. The Marquis leaned forward and kissed his wife on the brow. "She is the stars in our sky that will light the way." He pulled back and saw there were tears streaming down the Marchioness's cheeks. "What's wrong? Are you sure you don't require the physician?"

"I'm sure," she replied. She pulled his face down towards hers and kissed him on the lips. It was then that the newborn started to squirm in her father's arm and began to emit a sharp, cracking, wail. The Marchioness reached over and slid the baby from her husband's arm to hers to let their child feed. "Hungry, aren't you?"

"Tuck in, Lena," the Marquis said, stroking her cheek gently. "One day you will be the Thirteenth Doctor of Kasterborous and Gallifrey, the Fourteenth Marchioness in service to the King. Grow big and strong and fierce so that no Dalek, no Cyberan, will dare stand in your way. Until then, Papa's here."

"…and what a lovely papa you have," the Marchioness added. She did not lift her head as her husband stood and walked around the bed, climbing in still in his cloak and boots and finery, so that he could wrap an arm around her waist and rest his chin upon her head. They were found like that a short while later, asleep in a cocoon of warmth and rest. The servant who found them woke the Marquis and Marchioness long enough to take the Lady Lena and put her in a nearby cot as her parents sank sleepily in one another's arms.

The next day the march was brimming with excitement as news of the much-anticipated birth spread like wildfire. Their future Marchioness was born, while the current one still breathed. It was certainly a day worth celebration.


	2. Papa, Lena, and the Mysterious Blooms

A/N: It's pure coincidence that I've had a bunch of updates crammed together, but I'm glad it worked out that way.

Also: this chapter starts when Lena is roughly one and a half years old.

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><p><span>Chapter Two<span>: _Papa, Lena, and the Mysterious Blooms_

"Papa! Papa! Up! Up!"

Still drowsy, the Marquis felt tiny hands tugging on one of his in an attempt to drag him out of bed as he cracked his eyes open. He chuckled as he watched his daughter struggle to move his arm and lose her grip, tumbling backwards onto the floor. The toddler sniffled as she sat up, trying not to sob.

"Oh, don't cry now; Papa's up," the Marquis smirked. He rolled out of bed and scooped Lena off the floor, tickling her side to get her to laugh. He looked back at the bed—empty, for Clara was away visiting some pastures in the hills—and sighed. "Well, it looks like it's still the two of us today. What do you say to that?"

"Papa fun!" Lena giggled. She lunged forward and hugged her father's face, causing him to grimace as he walked over to the nursery door. The Marquis allowed his daughter to choose her dress—purple with white lace—and had only just gotten her shoes on her when she zoomed over to her toys and began to play. He chuckled and left her in order to dress himself, which he would have done had there not been a great deal of people fussing about in his room, arranging vases of flowers everywhere.

"Oh, my apologies Johan—you didn't answer so I thought you already left for the morning," the head gardener said. He saw the confused expression on his lord's face and chuckled. "I take it these are a surprise?"

"They are," the Marquis agreed. "I did not order them, and my wife has been gone nearly the week." Touching the blooms in the nearest vase, which were baby's breath and white carnations, he furrowed his brow in thought.

"The Marchioness ordered them before she left," the head gardener replied. "I thought you were aware." It was then that Lena came in to investigate all the commotion.

"Fwower!" she exclaimed happily. She clapped as she made her way up to the nearest arrangement to the door, but the gardener intercepted her and lifted the child into his arms.

"That's right, Lady Lena, those are flowers," he chuckled. "Do you like flowers?" He nodded at the Marquis, who quickly began to rummage through his wardrobe and don his finery for the day.

"Yes!" the little girl announced. "Fwower pwetty."

"They _are_ very pretty indeed. You have good taste, my child." The head gardener kept Lena busy until the Marquis was dressed, which was when he passed her off. "So then the Lady Clara did not have anything that needed discussion? This isn't any code you can think of?"

"Not that I am aware of," the Marquis answered. "If she ever has to tell me something, she usually says it forthright and skips playing games."

"Maybe it's something new, maybe it isn't," the gardener shrugged. He and his lord exchanged glances, knowing that neither of them had the full story at hand. The gardener then excused himself and left along with the rest of his staff. It took until he was halfway between the castle and the glasshouses before he finally pieced everything together.

'_Congratulations, Johan._'

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><p>"Spit it out," the Marquis frowned. He was sitting in the governance chair, a young man from a village in the hills in front of him. The village man was staring at him curiously, or, to be more specific, he was staring at the toddler bouncing happily on her stone-faced father's knee.<p>

"Uh, Your Lordship, I'm not exactly well-versed in court protocol, but should the young lady be with her governess?" he postulated. His lord shook his head.

"My child knows no governess," he replied. "She will rule the march one day, and in the meantime it's my job to make sure her duties are second-nature. Whatever you have to say to me, you can say to my daughter."

Lena looked between her father and the village man and furrowed her eyebrows, babbling importantly. The Marquis beamed at her, full of pride, and tickled her under her chin. "That's right, starlet: the village man is being a pudding brain and not saying what he needs to, prolonging everyone's time here. He won't be the last subject to be afraid of you, stars in the sky forbid."

"I am _not_ afraid of a baby," the villager frowned, unnerved by the very notion of his lord being affectionate. The Marquis did not move his head, yet turned his gaze onto the visitor with a smug grin.

"Prove it."

A long period of silence gripped the governance hall, the only noise being Lena's curious coos. The village man was just about to work up the courage to speak again when a crier scurried into the hall.

"The Lady Marchioness has returned," he announced. The Marquis clutched his daughter in his arms and stood, making his way down the dais and to the floor.

"We'll continue this another time," he said nonchalantly.

"…but what about…?"

"Then you should have spoken sooner," the Marquis stated.

"I was promised an audience!"

"And you will get one in time." The Marquis spun around on his heel, glowering at the man. "You try having your wife away from home for a week, traveling without word of return, and see how anxious you are to meet her."

"My wife doesn't have time for tea parties," the villager grumbled.

"Then I'll ask mine if tea in the hinterlands is any good, or if she was too busy drawing up new pasture boundaries for when we start rebuilding the roads to sit down for a decent cup," the Marquis snarked. Lena added on a few syllables as he turned around and walked away, peeking over her father's shoulder to wave her hand decisively at the village man. They then left, determined to locate the returned Marchioness.

A few minutes of frantic running later and she was found sitting down in the bedchamber. The Marchioness seemed to have just sat, with a servant placing a tea tray on the table next to her and the hem of her dress splattered in mud. The Marquis put Lena down on the floor and let her run to her mother, jumping up into her lap and attacking her with kisses.

"Oh, I missed you too little one," the Marchioness laughed. She watched as her husband slowly crossed the room, bending down on a knee to kiss her hand. "And I missed you as well. I see you got my flowers."

The Marquis smiled against her hand. "Things are not the same without the moon in my sky at night." He then blinked, letting go of her hand and taking careful note of her dress. "You haven't worn that in a long time."

"Since when?" she asked with a chuckle. It took until Lena leaned towards him and tugged on his whiskers for him to remember.

"When you were carrying Lena," he gasped. "You don't mean you're…?"

She nodded in reply, biting her lips together to keep from crying. The Marquis lunged forward and happily wrapped his arms around his wife in a hug, kissing her gently, with Lena trapped giggling in the middle.

"How far along?" he asked. "I… I didn't realize…"

"Not terribly far—before the autumn ends for certain—we've been apart my last few moon-cycles, so you wouldn't have had the chance to guess," the Marchioness said. "The physician is coming though for an exam, so if you could please take _our eldest_ to the nursery and keep her there I would be most appreciative."

"Are you feeling well?" the Marquis asked. She nodded.

"I am just showing a little sooner than before, and I want to be sure that it is normal," she said. "One of my bodyguards said she showed earlier with her second than her first and I shouldn't worry, but I know how you are about keeping up on these things."

"Yes, of course," he nodded, plucking Lena from her mother's lap. After leaving a kiss on his wife's crown, the Marquis brought their heir over to the next room, where he shut the door and sat in a chair while he watched her play.

Close to an hour passed as the Marquis secluded himself in the nursery. He heard the physician both arrive and leave as he waited patiently for the go-ahead to return. Finally the door to the bedchamber opened and the Marchioness stood in the entryway, leaning on the frame. He pulled their child away from her dolls and into his arms as he went to meet her.

"Are you well? Is the child well?" the Marquis asked. The Marchioness nodded.

"I am well, and so are the children," she said. Her husband furrowed his brow in thought.

"…but the physician didn't see Lena, only you."

"Only me and our _twins_," the Marchioness said softly, her hand finding her stomach. She watched as the Marquis's eyes went wide and his lips parted in shock.

"T-Twins…?" he gasped.

"Your grandfather was a twin; don't be so surprised," she smirked. Her face fell as her husband's shock did not seem to wear off, his own a frozen mask. "Johan? Are you alright?"

"Papa? Kay?" Lena asked, shoving her hands in her father's cheek. The Marquis shook his disbelief long enough to kiss his daughter on the forehead in reply.

"This… this can't be…" he murmured. "You cannot be with _twins_. There's no way…"

"There had to of been some way, or else I would not have shown so quickly," the Marchioness sighed. "Johan, everything will be fine."

"No, my dear, it won't be fine. This is _horrible_…"

She had to double-take. "How is me having more children _horrible_? All you do is dote on our Lena!"

"Yes, and I only have two arms, Clara," the Marquis explained in a panic. "I can barely contain Lena now, but three children? I can't hold three! I can learn how to hold two but three… I'll have to make sure I give them all equal time with their papa, so that none feel less loved." His eyes began to sting as tears finally began to well up in happiness. "Oh Clara, how could you do this to me?"

The Marchioness looked up at her distraught husband and laughed. She cradled his face in her hands and brought him down for a kiss. "_'To nurture, foster, and insure our issue'_, or have you forgotten?"

"That was part of our vows—it is something I'll never forget."

"Then I'm sure you'll find a way," she said. Carefully, she eased their daughter out of his arms and onto the floor, allowing the child to dash back to her toys. The Marchioness pulled the Marquis to a pile of cushions in the corner of the nursery, where they reclined and observed their eldest in play. All three grew drowsy by midafternoon, and before long toddler was in mama's arms, who was in papa's arms. They were a cozy pile of family, one that was growing even as they napped.

Not long before they were woken for tea, the Marquis's eyes flit open and he smiled as he caressed his wife's face, smoothed his daughter's wild hair, and placed a hand over where the twins were growing.

'_Two stars_,' he thought privately. '_My moon is creating two more stars for our sky, which is already so well-lit the midnight hours are nearly as day. Few men are as lucky as me._'

He kissed the Marchioness on the temple and gently tightened the grip around her waist. "My moon and my stars," he murmured. The Marquis then began to recite words, old and ornate and unknown to his sleeping family, as he sat and watched them as they slept on.

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><p>AN: We must always remember that Johan rocks the Cardinal Richelieu look from _The Musketeers_. He's got all the curled hair and intimidating goatee and sharp glares with none of the vestment issues.


	3. The Moonless Nights

A/N: The following chapter has Lena at five years old and her twin sisters at three.

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><p><span>Chapter Three<span>: _The Moonless Nights_

"Now I need you to behave for Papa," the Marchioness said sternly, crouching so as to look her daughters in the eyes. They were in the nursery, where it had been early evening playtime only moments before. The three little girls nodded sadly in reply.

"Do you have to go, Mama?" Lena asked. Mama nodded, stroking her eldest's soft, fluffy curls.

"If I don't, then foreign soldiers could cross the border and hurt a lot of people," she explained. "If they were friendly and just wanted a chat and some tea, we could let the colonels and the brigadiers handle it, but they're not and that means I need to help."

"Take us with you, Mama!" the twins, Astra and Tara, whined. The Marchioness shook her head and brought them in close for a hug.

"One day, when you're out of the nursery and can read a battle strategy," she tutted. "Now don't cause your papa any reason for worry, alright?"

"Yes, Mama," the girls replied in chorus. After giving each girl a kiss on the brow, she stood upright again and went to join her husband by their bedchamber. They entered, with him softly closing the door behind them.

"Do you really have to go?" he asked, his eyebrows knit in worry. "The report said they were aggressively hostile, Clara, moreso than usual. Let me assist at the front—I've gone face-to-face with a Daleki soldier in close combat before."

"It is my turn, so I am going; the girls will still have their mama by the time the contingent returns to Gallifrey, don't you worry," the Marchioness promised. The Marquis held her hand in one of his own, bending down to kiss her wrist.

"They better, or I shan't know what to do."

"I thought this was what you wanted: your second heart riding out when and where she is needed."

"It is, yet, I still can't help but worry," he said. Leaning down a bit further, he pressed their lips together in a pleading kiss. "My nights shall be moonless until your safe return."

"As will mine," she replied. They then parted, with the Marchioness headed for the stables while the Marquis went back to the nursery to announce that it was time for the family to go down to their dinner.

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><p>"Papa…? Papa, wake up please," Tara whispered, still in her nightdress as she shook her father's shoulder. He woke with a jolt, sitting upright in bed and looking down at his three-year-old daughter with parted lips and wide eyes.<p>

"Is everything alright?!" the Marquis asked, eyebrows arched in fear. The sky was bright, though a sparkling red, showing that they still had at least an hour before it was time to ready for the day. Tara held out a ribbon and brush, pouting.

"Braid my hair," she demanded. Her father exhaled; things were fine.

"It's too early to be braiding hair, my starlet," he chuckled. "Can't Lena or Astra help you?"

"Mama always does it for me if they're not awake," she explained. Crawling up on the bed, she sat down resolutely and held out the ribbon and brush again. "Please?"

"You can't wait for one of your sisters?"

"Nope."

Sighing, the Marquis took the things from his daughter's hand and watched as her eyes lit up. She excitedly shuffled so that her back was turned and he had access to her long, wavy mane of brown. He began to cautiously brush it, untangling the strands that had been knotted in sleep. Once everything was smooth again, he ran his fingers through the ends, pensive.

"What's the matter, Papa?" Tara asked.

"I… nothing," he lied. "Just hold still while Papa does his best, okay?"

"Okay," she giggled, wiggling happily in place. The Marquis thought for a moment, attempting to remember how exactly it was a braid was supposed to look, before halving her hair and beginning to twist the bunches together with his fingers.

"I haven't done this very often, so forgive me if it does not look like a braid from Mama," he said. It was true, as the last time he had attempted such a feat, he was a young man and courting. By the time he got to the bottom, the attempt was lax and frizzed and rather sad-looking. He tied it off with the ribbon anyways, patting his daughter on the head to signal he was done. "There. That should suffice until your sisters are awake and can fix Papa's mistakes."

"Oh, thank you, Papa!" Tara said, turning back around and kissing him on the cheek. She took the brush with her and disappeared back behind the nursery door, presumably to change into her clothes for the day and wake her sisters. The Marquis let himself fall backwards into the mattress, staring up at the canopy in dismay.

"I was not prepared for this," he murmured, closing his eyes. "I would not trade them for anything, but I still will never be prepared."

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><p>The young heir to the marquisate and her little sisters watched carefully around the corner as their father talked with one of his military officers. He seemed to be heavily distracted by the officer, which made the girls frown as spied on the Marquis.<p>

"I don't know how Papa can be so calm with Mama off to fight the Daleki soldiers," Lena pouted.

"He doesn't even look worried," Astra added. She was dressed in green that day, her twin in pink. "Mama at least _looks_ worried when he's off fighting."

"Oh, I think he is very worried indeed," a voice chuckled. The girls all jumped, falling over in surprise. When they finally disentangled themselves from one another, they saw Lena's tutor crouched down beside them with a soft smile. He always seemed to smile around them, making the forced-studding by Cyberan captors all over his face and body seem less frightening.

"How do you know, Sir Daniel?" Lena asked. "Has Papa told you he is worried?"

"No, but I can see it on his face," her tutor answered. "I've worked with him for many years, and I have learned how he shows fear."

"Is he often afraid?" Tara wondered. The man nodded in reply.

"He is, but that is just his nature," he said. "All papas are like that—all mamas as well. I wouldn't worry too much though. Your mama will be back home, dalek." He chuckled at the girls' blank expressions. "The soldiers your mama is with right now say '_dalek'_ to mean something like '_in a moment'_, or '_in a short while'_, because in the field, most Daleki troops are so easy to get rid of that it doesn't take much time at all."

"Then why are they so dangerous?" The tutor patted Astra's hair and shook his head.

"They're dangerous because there's always so many of them," he explained. "Poor soldiering skills or not, you should still watch an enemy in large numbers."

"Um… Sir Daniel?" Tara tapped her fingers together sheepishly. "How do we help Papa feel less afraid?"

"Well, what do your mama and papa do for you when you're afraid?" he asked.

"Give us hugs and read to us and let us stay in their bed and sometimes Mama takes us to the kitchens and we make ourselves a snack without the help of the cook-lady," Lena replied, counting off on her fingers. "Would the same things work with Papa?"

"I think so," the tutor nodded. "He's your papa and he loves you, and if his daughters want him to feel less afraid, I'm sure he will appreciate their efforts."

"Okay! Thanks, Sir Daniel," Tara grinned. She went to turn the corner and angrily stomped her foot. "No! He left! Now where is he?"

"He'll be back; he always is," the tutor said. He stood straight up, holding out his hand towards the sisters. "How about if we go play some ball in the gardens? Lena doesn't have any more lessons for the day, if I recall correctly, and the weather is beautiful for it." That was all the distraction necessary for the girls to gasp excitedly and follow him through the halls.

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><p>"Are you all safe and sound?" the Marquis asked his daughters as he looked around the nursery. He had just finished settling them down for the night, complete with snug blankets, toy dragons and lions and puppies, and kisses already distributed.<p>

"Yes, Papa," they said in unison. The Marquis then turned on his heel and went for the door to his shared bedchamber.

"Good night, then," he said as he left the room. The Marquis sighed in relief as he leaned up against the shut door, glad that his children were in bed and off to sleep. He shrugged out of his clothes and into his nightdress, afterwards allowing himself to nearly fall into his mattress. Pulling the blankets over him, he relaxed into the the pillow at his head—it still carried the Marchioness's scent despite her being gone. The smell comforted him as he closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep.

A few minutes passed and the Marquis heard the faint noise of the door to the nursery opening. Just as he began to roll over to see which daughter it was, all three jumped up onto the bed and tackled him in a giant hug.

"Wait a moment! What is going on here?!" he gasped. The girls scuttled off their father and into the empty expanse of bed, clutching their toy animals in trepidation.

"We got hugs and kisses goodnight, and we wanted to make sure you got them too," Lena explained. "Mama gives them to you, and since Mama's not here and you're worried about her…"

The Marquis relaxed—again, nothing was wrong. "Now what makes you think I'm worried about your mama?"

"We didn't think you were, but Sir Daniel said you are, and that we can help by making you feel better and we know we feel better with hugs, so…" Astra said, her mouth going nearly as fast as she could think. She sucked in a deep breath, steeling herself. "…Tara and Lena and I were hoping that maybe, if we gave you hugs goodnight, that you would feel better and not be upset with worry over Mama, and maybe we could stay in here like we do when you're the one riding to meet with the soldiers."

"You girls stay with your mama when I am not here?" he asked. The girls nodded.

"Mama says the bed is too lonely with just one person," Lena replied. "Is that right?"

The Marquis considered it for a moment before holding his arms out wide. "Your mama is never wrong." He smiled softly as his daughters dove under the bedding and snuggled in for the night. With Tara on his chest and Lena and Astra each in an arm, the Marquis slept upright in bed so as to not risk rolling over and disturbing them. He leaned up against the headboard, a crick quickly developing in his neck as he allowed himself to succumb to sleep, truly comforted by his daughters' presence.

* * *

><p>When the Marchioness returned home early the following morning, she was more confused at her lack of a welcome party than anything.<p>

"Where is my lord husband?" she asked as she dismounted her horse. "Usually he is here to greet me."

"I do not know, milady," the stable hand replied. "It is early yet, but I've heard that neither he nor your daughters have been seen today, so maybe they have taken ill?"

"That is a possibility—children and the grey-haired do fall ill easily after all," she nodded. She thanked the stable hand and decided to head up to her quarters for a quick bath and a change of clothes. Finding toy animals in her unmade bed and the door to the nursery open, she saw the Marquis sitting cross-legged on the floor, with Tara in his lap as Lena and Astra lorded over him.

"_No_, Papa, you're doing it wrong," Lena frowned. She took the strands of her sister's hair from his hands and slowly wound them together. "Like this, see?"

"Yes, I see," he echoed. None of them noticed the Marchioness until she cleared her throat, alerting them to her presence.

"I see my stars and moon got on while I was gone," she laughed. The girls ran to their mother, nearly bowling her over in their excitement.

"Mama, we're teaching Papa how to braid hair!" Astra squeaked.

"I can see," the Marchioness laughed. She looked up and saw her husband rise to his feet. He crossed the nursery and bent down to kiss her cheek. "Are the lessons going well?"

"I have excellent tutors," he chuckled. "I didn't know our starlets kept you company while I am away."

"The bed is too big and lonely for one—I found that out after you and I started sharing," she smirked. She then inspected the beginning of the braids on Tara's head, close to her scalp and delicately woven. "Not many marquises I know with deft enough fingers to help their daughters with hair."

"You sound surprised." The Marquis placed his hands on her waist and pressed their foreheads together. "Maybe you forgot what I am capable of while you were away."

"I might need a reminder then," she giggled. She pulled down his face and kissed him on the lips, only to be serenaded by a chorus of fake gagging coming from the girls. They kissed again and were immediately pulled apart, Lena tugging on the Marchioness's waist and the twins each taking one of the Marquis's arms. The parents exchanged glances—it was more amusing than anything else for, above all, their skies were moonless no longer.

* * *

><p>AN: Danny, as the official private tutor for the kids, is the closest thing they have to a governess, thanks to Johan and Clara's more hands-on approach to parenting than would be normal for nobility. With an ex-POW/military strategist/general badass at the helm of their education and non-parental welfare, one can only assume these children are destined for greatness.


	4. The Special Curriculum

A/N: I know it's only been a week, but I feel like I need to post this. Also, I think I'm going to start bouncing around in the timeline after a couple of chapters. I know I said nonlinear from the start, but I'd rather not jump right into stuff like "three kids and a baby later" or "oh, hey, look, parenting adult children" immediately without everyone having at least a little bit of grounding.

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Four<span>: _The Special Curriculum_

It had all started one evening as the Marquis sat up in the study, proofreading some mandates that needed to be thoroughly combed through before their approval. It was a moonless night, both in the lack of the celestial body and his wife's absence, making it so that he shared the table with his daughters. Astra and Tara were both drawing quietly on some paper scraps, while Lena was concentrating as she read a book.

"Papa," Lena frowned, "can you tell me what this word means?" The Marquis adjusted his spectacles and watched as his daughter walked around the table to his side.

"Why of course, what is it my starlet?" he asked. His face fell as he saw the word she had pointed out and looked at her critically. "Is this one of the books from Mama's case?"

"From the shelf I'm allowed to borrow from, honest," Lena insisted. "I just don't know this word, is all, and it keeps on popping up."

The Marquis swallowed hard; he could see the twins now looking at them from across the table. "That word is '_betrothed'_," he explained. "When the prince says the serdar's daughter is his betrothed, it means that one day they are going to marry whether they like it or not."

"Do people often marry the ones they don't want to?" she asked, tilting her head. She did not know it, but her father's heart skipped several beats.

"Sometimes, if the marriage is what's best for a political alliance, or if there is a large enough dowry, or wedding present, that makes it so there are no more money issues," he said, his ears beginning to burn.

"The prince in the book says he has been betrothed since he was a baby. How come? Babies can't marry."

"They can't, but there are betrothals that happen when the ones that are to be married are only babies or children, because their parents are friends or they will end up uniting two great houses." The Marquis was beginning to sweat, and was hoping that his daughter did not notice. "They just wait to marry when they come of age—it is a thing that happens, nothing more."

"Do the soldiers and smallfolk get betrothed?" Lena wondered. "What about merchants and guildsmen?"

"Occasionally, though it's more common with people like us." This was going to have to come to a close very soon if he wanted to get any more work done with a peaceful mind.

"Do I have a betrothed?"

"No!" the Marquis replied, much too firmly to seem calm. Lena jumped, caught off-guard by her father's sudden outburst. He quickly composed himself and sighed, pulling his daughter close enough to kiss her brow. "I'm sorry. It is just that I want you to choose who you marry yourself, and decide if you want a husband out of love or out of duty."

"So then Astra and Tara don't have betrotheds either?" the girl asked.

"That's right," he nodded. "They have dowries, for if they want them, but not a betrothed. You don't have one, because you are Papa and Mama's heir and because of that your husband will be the one who needs a dowry. He won't be Marquis, but he will be the Companion, and I would still rather you choose who sits at your side for yourself instead of having the man chosen for you."

"Huh, that's interesting. Thanks Papa," Lena said. She kissed her father on the cheek and returned to her chair, where she settled back down to read some more.

The Marquis, however, sat there with a twitch on his face and a knot in his gut—his daughters now knew what a betrothal was, and that the twins had dowries in lieu of a title. With Lena's ravenous appetite for the written word came an early onset of worry for his daughters' future courtships. He looked at his girls, tiny and young and surely so far away from things such as suitors, both the wanted and the unsavory, that he had to keep repeating to himself that he was overreacting.

Yes, he was overreacting, he silently repeated later as he laid in bed, unable to stay still. He tossed and turned and tried to get comfortable, but to no avail. If Lena had not been reading that book, she never would have asked, and if she had not asked, there was a chance that they could have been kept away from the concept for a while longer yet.

Suddenly, he smiled privately: he had the solution. It was brilliant and clever, if he did say so himself, and all it would take is a short chat with their tutor.

* * *

><p>The next morning, the Marquis found himself again covered in daughters as he woke for the day. He dressed, made sure his girls got up and shuffled into the nursery to change into their day clothes before ushering them down to breakfast. As the meal was ending, the children's tutor, Sir Daniel, arrived and was nearly ready to whisk them away when the Marquis stood up first and cleared his throat.<p>

"I'd like a word with you before you begin with lessons, if you don't mind," he said. The tutor blinked at him, curious.

"Of course, Your Lordship," he said. They stood off to the side of the room while the girls finished their meal. Feeling very uneasy about the look on the Marquis's face, the tutor steeled himself for the worst. "What is the problem?"

"Lena was reading a novel last night and she had me explain to her all about betrothals and dowries, with the twins right there," the Marquis grumbled, his voice hushed. "This is very bad—I was hoping to keep those ideas as far away from them as possible for as long as I could, but no… it's now ruined."

"With all due respect, sir, they are little girls, and that sort of stuff is in many faerie stories. I'm surprised that it took this long, if you have a problem with that." The tutor looked at his employer and raised an eyebrow. "What does this have to do with me? You don't think I encouraged this, do you?"

"No, I'm not accusing you; the book came off one of Clara's shelves. If there is one thing about Clara I dislike, let alone hate, it's her love of those lurid novels," the Marquis growled. "That's why I need you to add a subject to their curriculum."

"_'The Evils of Modern Literature'_…?" the tutor asked in trepidation. The Marquis scoffed.

"No. I'm not going to stop them from reading because that would only make the situation worse as they grow older. I want you to teach them all how to fight."

"…like, military tactics?"

"Hand-to-hand combat, Daniel," the Marquis clarified. "At this rate I'm going to have all daughters, and while all daughters is better than no daughters, it will help put my mind at rest that if they happen to wander off with a suitor when they're older for some clandestine fling, they will be able to stop unwanted advances even if they end up with my wife's height and a man taller than me."

"That's very unorthodox, Johan," the tutor chuckled. He could now relax, with the real reason for concern finally out in the open. "Even in soldering families, the children do not start being formally trained in combat until they enter the Academy at age eleven. The girls are six and four."

"I understand, but even at eleven children start to think they're adults. Now what good is having an old soldier as my daughters' tutor if he cannot teach them how to defend themselves?" The Marquis grinned, his whiskers parted by a thin row of teeth. "Start whenever you can spare the time, but the sooner the better. I'd rather have Clara unaware until she cannot protest."

"Then how about we say that I planned on teaching them all along beginning at age eleven, but with all the extra work that has to be built into their schooling, it is better for them to begin early?" the tutor offered. "I can teach them the works: hand-to-hand, marksmanship, the shield and sword, just as long as they respect the tools I'm giving them." He sighed, scratching the back of his neck as he continued his thoughts. "As far as Clara is concerned, you have to admit that they have much more on their plate than a soldier's daughters would, and if that can't convince her, then nothing will."

"Thank you, Daniel. I knew I could count on you," the Marquis nodded. He pat the other man on the shoulder before letting him take the girls off to the schoolroom. It was a comfort, knowing that his daughters' tutor would bend the rules to help reaffirm their safety.

* * *

><p>A week later, the Marquis was interrupted while he was brainstorming a way to deal with the mercenaries from Sontaria the Cyberans were rumored to be seeking out—the Marchioness had returned. He met her down by the stables, watching as she rode in atop her horse.<p>

"How did I know you'd be my welcome party?" she laughed as she slid from the saddle and into his arms. He put her down and kissed her hand, bending at the waist to press their foreheads together.

"You grew," he said, reaching for her hips. She chuckled softly—the child in her womb was certainly more prominent now than when she had left, that was true.

"Where are the girls? I want to see them."

"With Daniel," the Marquis replied. They began to walk arm-in-arm, away from the stables and towards the gardens. Eventually they found heir and spares with their tutor on the grounds, with the girls waving around wooden swords in an exaggerated manner as instructions were barked out.

The Marchioness's eyes grew wide before they narrowed. "Daniel," she said, clearing her throat and raising her voice. Student and teacher alike snapped their gaze in her direction.

"Mama!" the girls cheered, dropping their weapons and running towards her. She bent down slightly and hugged them.

"Why hello there, little ones," the Marchioness smiled. "Now what's this you're doing? I don't remember you having the sword as one of your sports before I left."

"Sir Daniel says that we're all old enough to hold a sword as long as we don't treat it like a toy," Lena explained. "He said it will be useful!"

"Yeah! It's really interesting, and he says we're good at it!" Tara giggled. "Did you ever learn swordsmanship, Mama? What about shooting?"

"No, I did not," Clara frowned sternly. She paused and tread carefully as she continued. "Though, things are much different in Gallifrey than they are in Blackpoole. Grandpapa never had to worry about me and enemy soldiers until I came here. I simply wish Sir Daniel had told me beforehand…" She shot the tutor a disappointed look, to which he recoiled slightly. He was about to stammer out a response when he was cut off.

"I cleared it—not to worry," the Marquis chimed in. His wife looked at him, perplexed.

"You did…?"

"Yes, I did. _Not to worry_. Daniel, girls, you may continue." With that, he began to walk away, leaving his wife to rush to catch up to him.

"Johan, why are you letting our _daughters_ learn how to wield a sword… and what was that about _shooting_?!" she hissed as she took his arm. The Marquis shrugged.

"It was part of my education when I was a lad, as with all the heirs of the marquisate" he explained. "Soldiers listen better to commanders whose skills they can respect, and some only listen to shows of strength. The troops love and respect you now, but you are not of Gallifrey, let alone Kasterborous, and due to that they give allowances with their favor."

"That doesn't mean I'm forced to like the idea of our daughters learning how to kill…"

"Defend, my darling—we teach how to defend." The Marquis stopped walking and faced the Marchioness, cradling her cheek with one of his hands. "It is the battlefield that teaches how to kill, and I hope it never comes down to that. We all allow things we dislike to continue, such as your refusal of a carriage while with child…"

"I ride sidesaddle and at no higher than a canter, I'll have you know," she retorted. They both chuckled and leaned in to one another for a light kiss, blissful as they parted. "Next trip, alright? I'll use a carriage next time I ride out."

"Thank you, Doctor." He kissed her hand and bowed with a flourish, bending so far he had to grin at her from underneath his brows. She smiled back and they returned to the castle eager to catch up with one another.

* * *

><p>A couple weeks passed and the Marquis and Marchioness had the distinct displeasure of being on the hosting end of a social call. The Count of Painswick was generally a tolerable man when encountered in the neutral playing field that was the capital, but dare he travel more than a few leagues from the city walls and little but complaining came from his mouth.<p>

"I don't know how you tolerate this weather up here," he grumbled, looking out the window. It was grey and dreary outside, drizzling rain, which bothered the visitor from the sunny southern valleys. "All day and all night—doesn't this ever dampen your mood?"

"Not always, but you'd be surprised what sort of weather we find normal," the Marquis said. He stood by the count looking out the window, gazing down at the gardens, before looking back to his wife sitting next to the fire. "How about it Clara? You've been here twelve years now; when did you get used to Kasterborsian weather?"

"I'm still not used to it," she dully quipped, turning a page in her book. "Storms in the dead of winter are the worst. I'd rather birth a child over a week than get caught by snow-fever again."

"Surely you don't mean that," the count said. The Marchioness moved her eyes from the page, staring at the two men across the room as she remembered her first winter and what nearly became a mistake of a paramour.

"Try me." She turned back to her book, only for her daughters to come barging into the room excitedly moments later. All three were sopping wet and tracking mud over the rug. "Girls! Where have you been?!"

"Outside!" Tara grinned. "Sir Daniel was teaching us how to grapple and after he left we went outside and tried it ourselves."

"Well, I'm going to have to tell Sir Daniel that all of these lessons are called off until we can fit you into some breeches and shirts for fighting," the Marchioness scolded. She put down her book and began fussing with Astra's dress. "Oh, I hope the washing ladies can do something about these dresses."

"Your daughters? _Grappling_?" the count asked, rather incredulous. "If my daughter did anything of the sort her governess would have a fit."

"But we don't have a governess," Lena replied. "We just have Sir Daniel, and he says we need to know how to fight because not everyone is a nice person. I'm going to be in charge of soldiers one day too, so that makes it double for me."

"What a sharp little girl you are," the count chuckled. He crouched down to her height and pat the top of her hair. "But what if you have a baby brother next? Then what?"

"Uh… then I have a baby brother…?" The little girl looked over at her mother, confused. "What happens if we get a brother and not a sister?"

"Then you have a brother, nothing more," she replied, wiping mud off Astra's face with a kerchief. The Marchioness shot the count a glare commanding him to back down. "One day Lena will be Marchioness, no matter who her siblings are."

"With all due respect, but even for children your daughters look delicate. Is it safe for them to learn how to throw people around?"

"I don't know; Lena, show him what you learned today," the Marquis said. Without much more prompting, the girl caught the count as he was beginning to stand, rolling him down over her shoulder and flat onto his back. Barely able to contain his pride, the Marquis helped the count up from the floor. "Now I didn't mean demonstrate on _him_, starlet. Throwing around Tara would have sufficed."

"I'm sorry," she squeaked quietly.

"Nothing to be sorry about if it was a misunderstanding," the Marchioness said. She stood up and began to herd her daughters out of the lounge, leaving the men alone. The Marquis went over to the table by the window, where a decanter of wine had been left earlier. He poured two drinks, holding one out towards his guest, a smirk growing on his face.

"Slender muscles run in the family," he said simply. The count reluctantly took the glass and downed the liquid in one go, knowing that this time it was wise to keep his mouth shut.


	5. The False Heir

A/N: We've got fanart! Thanks to HeadCowInCharge/thenotoriouscow for drawing Johan and Clara! A link is on my profile, for the curious.

Additionally: this chapter takes place when Lena is six and Astra and Tara are four. The Marquis and Marchioness are fifty-six and thirty-seven, respectively.

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Five<span>: _The False Heir_

The day the Marchioness Clara gave birth to her fourth child was the day that marked the marquisate's temporary descent into madness and confusion.

Well, within the general order of things the day was fairly ordinary. The sky was blue and the sun shone brilliantly and the songbirds still sang upon the sill. With daughters at their lessons, the Marquis sat in the nursery, rocking the cot with his foot as he waited to be allowed in his bedchamber. His wife had been quiet for some time, and the baby's first cries were long-wailed, and he was beginning to become impatient.

"Milord?" the midwife said as she opened the door. "We are all done in here."

"Very well, thank you," he replied, standing up and making his way towards the other room. He entered and found no one else aside from the Marchioness and their newborn. The maids had done their cleaning and the midwife took her leave immediately afterwards, allowing the parents privacy.

"They lie," the Marchioness laughed weakly as her husband sat on the edge of the mattress and kissed her cheek. "It does not become easier with each passing child—either that or I'm just the lucky one."

"I'm the lucky one, to have a wife that puts up with my children so," the Marquis chuckled. He slid one arm around her waist and used his free hand to trace the brow of the sleeping baby in her arms. "Now what are we going to call you, starlet? A name just as pretty as your sisters', no doubt."

"I don't know if he will thank you for giving him a pretty name," the Marchioness said. She rested her head against the Marquis's shoulder and sighed. "This is our _son_."

"Our _son_? Are you sure?" he asked, blinking curiously. "You can make those?"

"If I'm capable of having daughters, then I'm capable of having sons, yes," she groaned. "Our girls have a little brother to teach how to play ball and nursery games and how to read."

"I don't know, Clara," the Marquis frowned. He held her hand in his and kissed it. "Aren't sons supposed to be different? I have daughters down pat, but I don't know the first thing about sons."

"Our _children_ have attentive parents that care about them, that is all," the Marchioness said. "This little boy has changed nothing about how we raise children, or the paths of any of his elder siblings. So what do you say, Papa? Is this the next Johan in the line?"

"Stars, no," he scoffed. "Too many Johans already. If the kids want to name _their_ sons Johan, that's their problem, but we can take a cue from Grandmamma Donata and do something different."

"You want to name our son '_Troy Kalyoan_'?"

"Doubly no—I'm fairly sure my lord father was as odd as he was because he had an odd name. I was thinking, if his sisters are named for the stars, then he should be as well."

"…but the boy in the legend of the moon and stars didn't have a name," she said. Her husband shook his head.

"No, but he is our little _star-ling_. What do you think, lad? Do you like Sterling?"

The infant opened his eyes and looked up at his father. He made a small noise, at which the Marquis smiled.

"Then Sterling it is, young man. Your middle name is not going to be Johan though and don't argue that."

"He can't understand you yet," the Marchioness chuckled.

"Didn't you know? All fathers can speak baby to some degree." His wife rolled her eyes and bounced the baby in her arms.

"I'll make sure to remember that during the red of night and he won't stop being fussy," she quipped. They kissed and the door to the room flew open, their daughters bursting into the room.

"We came as soon as we heard!" Astra shrieked. "Is it true we have a brother?!"

"Yes it is, starlet," the Marquis said. He watched as his daughters all climbed into the bed to get a closer look at the boy, who stared at them in wonder. "His name is Sterling."

"Hello Sterling," Lena said. She scrunched her nose as she watched him wriggle in place. "He's really tiny. I don't remember Astra and Tara being this tiny."

"That's because you were small still yourself," the Marchioness explained. "One day it's likely Sterling will grow bigger than you, even though he's younger."

"I doubt that," Tara frowned. She jabbed a finger in her brother's midsection, causing him to cry. "Wow, he whines a lot."

"Anyone whines when their sister is mean to them," the Marquis said. "You have to be careful with babies, or else they don't grow properly. We made sure that Lena was careful with you, and now you have to be careful with Sterling."

"Okay then, Sterling: grow up so I can poke you and throw you around and you don't cry," Tara ordered.

"That's not how babies _work_, Tara," Lena groaned.

"How would you know? You can't even _remember_ when I was a baby!" The two girls began to bicker back and forth over who was right, while Astra ignored them and gently kissed their brother on the brow.

"Welcome, Sterling," she said. "We all love you very much."

"That's a good girl," the Marchioness smiled. She stroked her daughter's hair and watched as her husband pulled their other two daughters apart. Their family was growing steadily and healthily, and it was everything that she could want for them, unaware of the unpleasantness that was soon to come.

* * *

><p>By the week's end, the Marchioness was feeling refreshed enough to begin joining the Marquis and their three older children down in the dining room for meals. With Sterling nestled sleepily along her arm, she worked one-handed as she ate her breakfast.<p>

"What did you do when Astra and Tara were babies, Mama?" Lena asked curiously. Mama shrugged as she bit into some toast.

"Oh, that's what I had your Papa for," she explained. "You either sat in a lap or on a stack of books and your Papa and I switched off which twin we held."

"Were Tara and I hard?" Astra asked.

"We had three babies at once—that's difficult on anyone who refuses a governess," the Marquis added. A servant came in and handed him some letters which he thankfully took. "We don't want you kids being raised by someone we don't know and who is only caring as long as they have a job. Usually it is only the smallfolk that don't have governesses, and those children attend schools with kids from other families, so really people consider your situation unique." He opened the first of the letters and began to skim the contents—a social correspondence—though his attention became increasingly rapt as he went along.

"Knock, knock," the tutor said as he entered the dining room. He strolled in and came straight up to the table, eyes locked on his students. "Are you ladies ready for today's lessons?" Met with a chorus of groans and almosts, he chuckled and turned his attention to the newborn. "And hello there. You're a little young for the schoolroom, aren't you?"

"Just a bit," the Marchioness laughed. She looked up at her old love and raised her eyebrows cheekily. "How are things with you and that lady friend of yours? Well, I hope?"

"Yeah… I think so," he grinned. "She's no great lady, but I think she's willing to become one in-name if I ask." He glanced over at the Marquis, whose face was drawn long and still as he read another letter with a lordly mask, and frowned.

"Are you okay, Johan?"

"What? Oh, yes, I'm fine," the Marquis said, snapping out of his trance. "Girls, time for lessons. Now. Go with Sir Daniel."

"You heard the man, team! Let's go!" the tutor announced, forcing pep into his voice. The girls jammed as much of their remaining breakfast in their mouths as possible and followed their tutor out the room. With daughters gone, the Marchioness turned her attention to her husband, who was now angrily going through the letters.

"Johan? What's wrong?" she asked.

"They're all offers," he replied stiffly. The Marquis slammed the letter in his hand on the table and cursed in the ceremonial tongue. "They're a bunch of rabid _dogs_ circling her like a wounded animal!"

The Marchioness furrowed her brow in thought, fully aware his ire was not directed at her. "What are you talking about?"

"We announce we have a son and I get congratulated in court with much more enthusiasm than with the girls. Not even a week passes and look at this! Althos, Shoreditch, Chatham, Bristol, _Chiswick_… all offers of betrothals for Lena! Chiswick! My grandmamma was from Chiswick! Even if I _were_ marrying her off, I can't marry her to a cousin like that!" He scoffed angrily and tried to drink some tea to calm his nerves; it didn't work. "I thought the past six years of me saying '_my daughter will inherit the marquisate_' would have been enough, but apparently not!"

"It's what they would be doing in your shoes," the Marchioness sighed. "According to them, you now have a real heir and Lena can go back to being a proper little lady."

"She is a proper little lady already—just one who is going to run circles of greatness around all their unworthy sons as they pick their noses trying to find the pudding stuck in there," the Marquis growled. "This disgusts me; the only one who has any right to write to me asking for one of our children is _your papa_, if he can't find a decent mind out of your extended family to succeed him."

"It will only be one that his wife approves of as well, so that leaves out basically anyone from his side of the family," she mentioned. Sterling woke up and began to fuss, prompting her to feed him. "Papa knew what he was getting into by marrying me off to an heirless widow instead of cloistering me away until he found a suitable man without a title to wed me."

"Oh, I can't imagine you living like that," he replied, the comment dragging him from his anger. "Surrounded by great pious ladies that just get drunk from boredom when no one's looking? How exciting."

"A fate I'm thankful I never met every day," she said kindly. The Marchioness reached across the table and took hold of her husband's hand, stroking the knuckles with her thumb. "I'll write the responses, if you like. It will be less likely you go off the handle that way."

"No… the letters are addressed to me and if I don't respond personally then it will be considered a slight," the Marquis grumbled. "I might as well start writing them in bulk. If we got five today, think of how many we're going to get in the long-run."

"Think about it too much and you're like to pop a vein," the Marchioness said plainly. She carefully maneuvered her son and tapped his back to burp him. He made a little croaking sound and she returned to the feeding. "Act otherwise like nothing's changed…"

"…but it _hasn't_ changed, Clara…"

"Precisely. Keep on as normal and you'll get the message across," she said as if it were the easiest and plainest answer in the world. "Have Lena attend court, continue her lessons, make it very clear that just because you sit there with an infant son that doesn't mean that your eldest daughter has lost her place in line."

"You do always know what to do," the Marquis smiled. He picked up his wife's hand and kissed the back of it; he was certainly lucky to have such a sure-headed bride.

* * *

><p>"May I ask you something, Psi? Friend to friend?"<p>

His host, the young Earl of Braxos, laughed and moved a piece across the chessboard. It was after dinner and they were alone in the lounge, sharing a game while their wives talked the room over in the library. "If we're using given names, then of course, Johan. I didn't know that my inheriting my father's earldom meant I inherited your friendship along with it."

"Not that many I can call a friend these days, I'm afraid, and I think you have a better chance of understanding me than most." The Marquis took another sip of his drink and leaned back in his chair, studying the game pieces before him. "Clara and I have been getting a lot of letters about Lena."

"Jumping on the news of Sterling's birth without thinking things through, huh?" The Earl watched his opponent consider his options and his face dropped in sympathy. "It's only been two months—things can't be _that_ bad."

The Marquis moved up a piece and frowned. "They are, I hate to say. I've received dozens of inquiries about her status and if I plan to betroth the poor girl, but I just can't do it. Clara and I were very fortunate with our marriage, but that doesn't mean that I want _any_ of my children to be forced into a match that they don't approve of themselves before the wedding day. Arranged marriages and betrothals are so _tricky_."

"For a man who has been in both, you are certainly reluctant towards either notion for your children's futures," the Earl shrugged.

"Yes, well," he shrugged uncomfortably, "I've seen the alternatives. Your mother and father—may he feed the earth well—disliked one another so much that it wasn't clear you were legitimate until you grew up. Clara's father and stepmother, well, let's just say I'm fond of one and not of the other and we'll leave it at that." He picked up a piece removed from the game and studied it in the light. "I cannot wed my eldest daughter off before she even reaches womanhood… it's not right."

"None inquire about the twins?"

"They've been long-inquired about, I hate to say." The Marquis put the piece back down and shifted in his seat. "But most have just been thinking I was waiting for Clara to age into barrenness to make a decision on whether Lena will inherit the marquisate. I can't do that to her—pass her over for a baby for a reason as silly as gender. If she gets passed over for a sibling, it's because she wants to be passed over. Astra and Tara still sit between Sterling and the marquisate, so it's not like he's guaranteed it with Lena out of the way…"

"…and I hope, truly, that it never comes to that, because family is too precious a thing to have '_out of the way_'," the Earl said. He moved a chess piece and removed another from the game. "I remember visiting Gallifrey right after Lena was born and we barely had the chance to say four words to one another because you were poring over the law books."

"That's because it only hit me the day after she was born that Lena could be contested as an heir," the Marquis sighed. "Once I was certain the kingdom would recognize her as my legitimate successor, I had to also make sure there was no Kasterborsian provision that could allow the cadet branch to take over. My cousins are _wolves_, Psi. They're bad news; a woman nearly inherited before, but that was because her uncles and cousin had no aspirations for the seat."

"Your great-grandfather's cousin, Lady Dorothea, if I remember my history lessons well enough," the Earl said. He watched the Marquis nod in affirmation and continued. "Didn't the marquisate go from her and her father being killed in a skirmish and through two of her uncles before the younger passed his title on to live in self-imposed exile within a matter of a few years?"

"Yes, but the ninth marquis blaming himself for the deaths of his brothers and niece in the Great Dalek War and not accepting the title of Doctor is nowhere near the eleventh marquis's twin stealing his betrothed from the altar. Brothers don't do that to brothers."

"…and that is why I'm glad your twins are not your firstborn; that's an ill omen for parents in our line of work." He paused and lifted his eyebrows, signaling to the Marquis that they were not alone. Lena, Astra, and Tara had just slipped into the room and silently padded over to the men.

"We're going to bed," Lena announced, holding back a yawn. Her sisters were so sleepy they could only nod in affirmation. "Thank you for being a nice host, Lord Simon." She curtsied, which sent her into a wobble.

"Call me Psi, please," the Earl chuckled, patting Lena on the head. "We're neighbors; Saibhra and I want to be friendly. I mean, it's not always your papa I'm going to be sending support troops."

"Is it okay, Papa?" Lena asked. The Marquis sat back up in his chair and bent to kiss his daughters on the forehead.

"Of course it is. I've known Psi since he was a baby and since then I've come to trust him," he explained. "If there is one thing you can do, it is trust a Braxos, even if neither you nor him know what's happening."

"Okay, Papa. Goodnight." With that, Lena took her sisters by the hand and they shuffled out of the lounge. The adults waited until the door shut to continue their conversation.

"Saibhra and I don't plan on betrothing our children—we can lie and say it's a neighborly agreement, if it'll stave the offers," the Earl said. The Marquis shook his head.

"You haven't had children yet, and what if you only have girls? No."

"Saibhra has nephews…"

"No. It would look incredibly suspicious, and it wouldn't be fair to the children. I find no issue with her or her family, but we both know how much of a stir it caused when you married an _actress_."

"Fringe benefit," the Earl grinned. "It was a mutually-agreeable match that made people squirm—how could I resist?"

"You don't even touch one another for appearance's sake." The Earl smirked at that, taking a sip of his drink. "Whatever setup you have baffles me… not that I can judge."

"Lord Accidentally Fell In Love With His Heiress-Wife? Stars no."

Eyebrows lowered and lips a thin line of a frown, the Marquis moved a piece on the board and knocked over the Earl's king. "Checkmate."

* * *

><p>AN: This story is very "I will neither confirm nor deny" certain things, but I can assure you that anything that got a drop earlier will be revisited in some fashion later on.


	6. The Battlefield Babe

A/N: So this is going to be the last strictly-linear chapter. After this we'll have some chapters that are sequential, but for the most part I'll be posting whatever scenes I happen to come up with, whether that's in the early years or later on. Speaking of, this chapter takes place two years after the previous one. Ages are Lena at eight, Astra/Tara at six, Sterling at two, and the Marquis and Marchioness are fifty-eight and thirty-nine.

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Six<span>: _The Battlefield Babe_

Martha Jones-Pink, field surgeon, general physician, and celebrated member of the Marquis's army, was severely displeased as she came out of the medical tent. Not far away was Marchioness Clara being helped off her horse by a soldier, while the young Lady Lena handed over the reins to her pony. The sight would have been more bearable had the Marchioness not been so heavy with child, something the physician herself had been up until a few months prior.

"Milady, why are you here?" she frowned as she stomped up to the visitors. "You're large enough to where I could roll you across the field."

"Oh, I planned on this being my last ride for a while," the Marchioness laughed, attempting to make light of the situation. "Since it's been quiet, I decided to bring Lena for one quick tour of the camps while she has a holiday from lessons and before I'm laid up in bed and exhausted from feedings."

"…and have you been learning loads, Lady Lena?" the physician asked. The little girl nodded. "I hear you have a gift for strategy."

"I do!" Lena beamed. "That's why Mama said I can come! First she said I couldn't come until I'm out of the nursery and know strategy, but she said that the nursery part doesn't matter right now!"

"That's excellent! Hey, why don't you go to that tent over there and ask one of the cooks for a snack?" the physician suggested. "You must be hungry from the ride over."

"Okay, I will!" Lena scampered off giggling, simply happy to be there.

"You are reckless," the physician snapped at the Marchioness as soon as Lena was out of earshot. "If I could spend over half a year at home twiddling my thumbs in boredom then so can you."

"…and what? Have my husband riding out here more than what is actually necessary?" the other woman replied lowly. "No, Martha. As long as I can still mount a horse I am doing my duty and riding when I can. It's not at a gallop but if I could do it with Lena I will certainly do it with this child."

"You're an older mother now, Clara. I should hope I don't have to tell you about the risks of being an older mother."

"You sound like both Johan _and_ Daniel," the Marchioness grumbled. She started to walk away, though the physician immediately followed and they began to walk around the camp borders. "Why is it that _your_ husband has to take care of a baby and suddenly he feels it necessary to join in _my_ husband's lectures about taking it easy?"

"Because in this case, I think they know what they're talking about," the physician smirked. "How's my little Oriana? Doing well with just her dad around?"

"She's _thriving_," the Marchioness replied. She turned to face the physician, only for an explosion across the field and behind the far-off tree line to catch their attention. A volley of phaser blasts were hurled into the camp, one of which hit her shoulder. The force of the blast caused her to jerk back and fall to the ground, twitching in the wide-eyed aftershock.

"We're under attack!" the physician shouted. "I need muscle—the Marchioness has been hit!" Her last sentence was drowned out in a sea of panic, with soldiers scrambling to ready themselves for battle.

"Mama!" Lena cried as soon as she saw her mother lying on the ground. She ran over to kneel in the mud next to the Marchioness, trying to shake her back to responsiveness. "Mama, Mama, what's wrong?!"

"No, don't do that!" the physician snapped, taking Lena's hands away. "She was hit with a phaser gun and it jammed her nervous system and muscular responses. It takes a couple minutes, but she'll come back." She looked down towards the Marchioness's skirt and noticed red was beginning spread across the fabric. "Shit, _SHIT!_ I need _muscle, **now**_!" Quickly she checked underneath the skirt and cursed as one of the other soldiers came up to help them. "Get her to my tent, immediately—she's dilating rapidly."

"What's that mean?" Lena asked as the physician took her hand and began pulling her along. The soldier had picked the Marchioness up and was now carrying her to the medical tent.

"It means you're going to be a big sister again very soon, whether the fighting stops or not." They all reached the medical tent and the Marchioness was placed down on an empty bed. As soon as the soldier's hands were away the effects of the phaser blast wore off, allowing her to let out a blood-curdling scream and curl around her unborn child.

"Mama!" Lena shouted. She started to run to her, but the physician pulled her back by the arm.

"No, don't," she ordered. She pulled a phaser pistol from the holster underneath her coat and put it in the girl's hands. "I need you to stand guard. If it doesn't look like one of ours, shoot it in the head. You got that? I know you can use one of these, so I have faith in you." The Marchioness screamed again, this time her husband's name, and the physician quickly turned the girl away from them and towards the door-flap. "Don't turn around until I say so."

"…but, but, _my mama_…" Lena sniffled.

"…who is counting on you to keep us safe while she tries to give you your baby sibling. Stay here and do not look, I don't care what you hear. Got that?"

Lena bit her lips together and nodded, trying not to cry. The physician's hands left her shoulders and the girl lifted the phaser gun. It shook in her hands as she watched people run around though the slit in the tent flap. Her mother shouted again, and again, and Lena nearly turned to look, but someone in blue steel armor and pointing a rifle popped into the tent. She squeezed the trigger and fired, the blast connecting with the enemy soldier's forehead. The blast tossed him back out of the tent, only his boots still visible until they were dragged away by an unseen force.

Very soon after that a baby cried and tears began to stream down Lena's cheeks. She kept on watching the door-flap for intruders until the physician came back, one hand resting on her shoulder and the other taking the pistol from her grip.

"Go meet your sister—I have this," she said gently in her ear. The little girl spun around and flung herself in her mother's direction crying hysterically. Lena threw her arms around the Marchioness's neck and squeezed tight.

"Oh my girl, my big strong girl," the Marchioness cooed, stroking her eldest daughter's hair in a one-armed hug. "I am so sorry. Are you okay?"

"Nuh-uh," Lena whimpered, shaking her head. She looked down at the baby suckling at their mother's breast and worried her brow. "She's so little… I know babies are little, but Sterling wasn't this little, was he Mama?"

"Sterling had a whole extra month to grow inside me," Mama explained. She exhaled wearily and kissed her eldest daughter's forehead. "You did a good job protecting us. Thank you."

"Can we go back home, Mama? Papa needs to name her."

The Marchioness looked at the little girl whose face was nestled in her shoulder and nodded. "I think that is a wonderful idea… though, you don't want to name her?"

"No, that's Papa's job," Lena sniffled. She kept on staring at the baby with wide, barely-blinking eyes. "Papa gives good names. He gave me my name."

"This is true," the Marchioness agreed. She hugged her eldest daughter close, leaving another kiss on her hair. It had been a mistake going to the front while carrying one child and escorting another, and she hoped that it was going to be a mistake they could put behind them.

* * *

><p>It was a bright, quiet morning as the Marquis sat in his study. Sterling was on his lap, looking over the tabletop calmly at his father's work, while Astra and Tara sat at the far end of the table doing their sums practice. A hurried knock broke the serenity, sending a scowl across the man's face.<p>

"You better be important," he called out as he continued to look over his papers. A courier burst in, winded and exhausted from travel.

"A letter from the Marchioness, Your Lordship," he explained as he approached the table. "It's urgent." He placed the folded paper in the Marquis's outstretched hand and stood there, making his lord glare at him from underneath his brows.

"Your job is complete," he said.

"No, milord. I have further instruction to watch you read Her Ladyship's words. Please."

Quirking an eyebrow, the Marquis broke the seal and began to read his wife's letter. The further on he went, the paler his face ran, until he had to put down the paper and wrap both arms around his son in a hug. His eyes were wide and his lips parted in silent shock.

"Papa? What's wrong?" Astra asked. "What did Mama say?"

"Your…" He had to gulp down air to steady himself. "Your little sister was born early."

"We have another sister?!" Tara gasped. "What's her name? When are they coming home? I thought she wasn't supposed to be born until next month!"

The twins watched their papa as he sat there, clutching their brother. "Papa okay?" the toddler asked, wiggling in an attempt to escape their father's grasp to no avail. The courier excused himself and left the family alone, a heavy air having fallen on the room. Astra slipped off her chair and crept over to the Marquis's side, touching his arm gently.

"Papa? What did Mama say?"

"They… almost died," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "Your mama and your sisters… they could have died. There was an attack, by mercenaries… and that's why your little sister came early."

"What's a '_mercenary_'?"

"A hired soldier, only paid to do a specific task. They had been watching your mama and Lena… they wanted to…" The Marquis couldn't continue, and instead turned towards Astra and drew her in for a hug. The girl looked back at her twin in confused horror as their father began breathing deeply into her shoulder.

"Don't worry Papa," she said, turning her face forward again. "Mama and Lena and the baby are safe, right? They're coming home."

"They almost didn't, starlet," the Marquis choked. "_You_ almost became Papa's heir; soldiers attacked the tent where Mama and your sister were. Stars in the sky forbid, I don't want to do that again. Daniel shouldn't do that. _No_…"

"Do what, Papa?"

"Bury a wife and a child before their time—my sky almost grew dimmer in one blow." He let go of Astra to fetch a kerchief from his pocket, with which he cleaned the tears from his face as he composed himself. "Did you know that about your papa? That I had married before your mama?"

Astra shook her head, but it was Tara that answered once she was over at their father's side. "You still have us, Papa. We're still your stars."

"…but you know how dark it is outside when there's no moon to light the way," he said. The Marquis bounced the toddler in his lap and tried to smile for him. "Your brother doesn't understand yet, and I'm not sure how much you do, but please understand this: I am a very selfish man. I want my moon and each one of my stars until the day I die, and I don't care who stands in the way of that."

"Why did you mention Sir Daniel? Is Lady Martha okay?" Astra asked.

"Yes, she is, but Lady Martha was the physician that helped your mama birth your baby sister. If your mama died, chances would have been Lady Martha died alongside her. Sir Daniel and I argue, but… having gone through the death of a wife myself, I can't recommend it." He paused to place a hand on each of his daughters' shoulders and looked them in the eyes. "It's going to take at least a couple days for Mama and Lena to come back with the new baby. Can you promise you'll be good girls and wait patiently with me?"

"…but you never wait patiently for anything, Papa," Tara noted.

"That's why I need your help," he said. The Marquis then hugged his girls and rang the bell for tea, starting what was to be a long, strenuous week of wait. Very little could snap him from his daze, not even words of comfort from his daughters' tutor, given with sincerity and a hardened sense of understanding as he held his own daughter in his arms. It was a reality he faced every day, he explained, and while it hurt it should also be a source of strength, power, and love. It was all the Marquis could do to nod in response as he held his son, shivering in worry as the convoy made its way back.

Finally, a messenger approached the Marquis to announce that his wife and daughters had returned. He abandoned his paperwork and rushed down to the stables, where he saw his wife being helped out from the back of a cart while his daughter stood nearby. Her feet had barely reached the ground when he called out, his voice cracking as it filled the stables. "Clara! Lena!" He scrambled into their view, running an impossibly-lopsided run until he reached the Marchioness, whom he bent down towards and deeply kissed. After kissing her a second time, and a third, where he ran his fingers through her hair to make sure she was real, he left a light kiss on his infant daughter's nose and allowed himself to sink to his knees so he could hug his heir.

The girl sniffed into her father's shoulder, clinging tightly when he tried to stand again. He picked her up, a feat he strained to accomplish, and carried her up to the nursery. It was there where he had made the other children wait. As soon as the door had opened they snapped to attention, rushing right past their father to barrel into their mother's skirts.

"Hold on now, hold on, let me sit down first," the Marchioness chuckled. She sat in a nearby rocking chair and showed the sleeping infant to her siblings. "See? Here we are. All safe and sound."

"Mama, Papa told us what your letter said," Tara frowned. "That was wrong of the Sontarians. Lena didn't do anything bad and the baby _couldn't_ have done anything bad because she hadn't been born. Why would they want to kill people who aren't even old enough to do anything?"

"Because it was their job, starlet, nothing more," Mama sighed. "Thank you for keeping your papa here at the castle instead of letting him run off to the front. I don't know what he would have done had he acted reckless and accidentally gotten hurt looking for us."

"Baby?" Sterling asked, looking at his little sister. He patted his mother's stomach, no longer the bulge it once was, and tilted his head curiously back at the newborn. "Baby name?"

"Our son's right," the Marchioness said. She raised her voice so as to be heard across the room. "What is his little sister's name, Papa? Have you decided on a name of our youngest child?"

The Marquis sat silently on Lena's bed, the girl curled up against him in his lap as he rocked her back and forth. Despite the fact nearly the entire nursery was between him and his wife, he knew that it was as if they were sitting beside one another, holding hands and sharing their strength. His kissed his eldest's hair and held her close, trying to ignore the fact she was wrapping his cape around her as a blanket while she quietly cried.

"Maglina." He paused, staring at a bit of rug not far from where he sat. "Star dust."

"What a pretty name," the Marchioness cooed, bouncing the child gently in her arms. "Your sister was right: your papa does give good names." The baby opened her eyes and looked up, staring at her mother with the same sea-green gaze that was found in her grandfather's portrait down the corridor. "I think you will be it, my darling Maglina. You will be the last of Mama and Papa's babies."

"No more…?" Astra asked. "How can you tell?"

"I just can," Mama replied. "As far as I can see, Maglina is my last baby." She saw how intently her middle children were looking at their sister and forced a smile. "Who wants to hold her first?" The twins' eyes lit up.

"I want to! I want to!" Tara gasped.

"…but Sterling hasn't held a baby before!" Astra argued. "We should let him hold her first!"

"Sterling held Ori when Sir Daniel first brought her over to the castle, remember?" Tara shot back. "He was sitting on Mama's lap and she helped him!"

"Stop fighting," the Marchioness said firmly. "It's Tara's turn first, then Sterling, then Astra. Now sit down on the floor, please." Her children did as they were told and sat in front of their mother cross-legged. She slid carefully off the chair and down to her knees, placing the baby gently in the younger twin's arms.

After making sure the hold was secure, she looked across the room to check on her husband and eldest. They were still wrapped up in his cloak and wobbling on the edge of the bed. The Marquis's face was blank, his mask of lordly indifference hiding the pain and horror that was attacking him from all around. Lena kept rubbing her face in her father's chest, smearing tears and snot, and was visibly shivering even from across the room. It broke the Marchioness's heart, but she kept her other children busy and began the process of passing Maglina over to her brother.

It was not until that night, when the sky was a dusty red and the children were asleep and the baby freshly fed and placed in her cot, did the Marquis finally break. They laid on their bed, with his sobs muffled by her shoulder and his grip around her steadfast as iron. He cried and cursed in the ceremonial tongue and curled himself around her body. Hating everything and feeling helpless, he swore over and over to protect her, cherish her, and destroy anything that ever wished her harm. The Marchioness simply stroked his hand and listened to his murmured tirade until he fell asleep from exhaustion, red in his face and crust in his eyes. She looked out the window at the blood-red sky, listening to his labored breathing as she too drifted off, giving many thanks to the luck they had to bring her and their children home.

* * *

><p>AN: I promise we're still gonna have plenty of fluff and cute things, but a drama chapter, you know? Being nobility isn't all flower-language and glaring at people you don't like, after all.

Also, I need to mention that it took me quite a long time to figure out who in the heck I was going to pair Daniel off with, whether it was a canon character or an OC. In the end, I realized that when it comes to compatibility, Danny and Martha make a pretty good match. He'd be obliging to her career and she'd be able to see past the shit the Cyberans have done to him. Both characters are pretty badass and compassionate and tolerate the Doctor's antics very little. Love Mickey, love Martha, but I don't get the feeling a relationship between the two of them would have gone all the way to marriage. I know the ship is technically canon, but I don't wholly buy it. Sorry.


	7. Astara the Great

A/N: Time to rewind a little bit! The following chapter takes place with Lena at seven, the twins at five, and their baby brother Sterling at one. (I will address the number-of-children thing in due time, but I feel we need some fluff after that last chapter.)

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Seven<span>: _Astara the Great_

"Keep working on your reading, ladies. I'll be right back," the tutor said. He left the schoolroom for the toilet down the hall, leaving his three young charges to slump in their chairs as soon as his footsteps could not be heard.

"This is so _boring_," Tara whined. "I don't want to read about march history, _or_ kingdom history. I just want to go outside and play."

"You have to," Lena said. "If you don't then you won't learn about what to do and what not to do when we're adults."

"Yeah, but I'm not going to be a marchioness like you." Tara then looked over at Astra. "Hey Astra, do you think you can take my exam for me? I can pretend to be sick and then you take my paper when I come back. It's not like we don't look the same or anything."

"No Tara, I won't," she said, shaking her head. "Sir Daniel will figure it out. Even though we look the same people still know who is who."

"…only because of your dresses," Lena added. The twins looked at her, confused. "What? You mean you know? Tara has warm colors for her dresses and Astra has cool colors and it's so the adults can tell you apart. I figured it out when I learned the color wheel, and I'm surprised you didn't then too."

"Wait, so, you mean if we just switch dresses, we'll fool everyone?" Tara asked.

"Well, you won't fool me, but I bet you could definitely fool Mama and Papa and Sir Daniel."

"Then let's try it!" Tara gasped. "After lunch, before we come back to the schoolroom, we'll switch dresses!"

"I don't know…" Astra said. "What if we get in trouble?"

"For switching dresses? That's a dumb reason to get in trouble."

"Then we shouldn't risk getting in trouble for a dumb reason," Astra hissed. Tara was just about to say something very rude in reply when the tutor came back and the girls all snapped to attention.

"I see you've been _busy_ while I was away," he chuckled. "Now I think it's about time we put away the history books and practice some arithmetic…"

* * *

><p>"This doesn't feel right, Tara," Astra frowned. They had been released from lunch only minutes before and were due back in the classroom in a few more. Tara smoothed out her borrowed blue skirt and chuckled.<p>

"Nah, it feels fine," she replied. "Besides, you look pretty in yellow."

"Tara… we're _identical twins_. Whatever you look pretty in, I look pretty in."

"Come on, let's get back to class before we're late and in trouble anyways!" Tara said. The two girls ran from the nursery and through the castle to the schoolroom, where the tutor was sitting next to Lena and watching as she outlined a battle strategy with her finger on a map.

"Start reviewing your history lesson from this morning—I'm going to quiz you when we're done," the tutor said, not looking away from the map in front of him and Lena. The twins sat down and opened their books, with Tara pretending to read and Astra attempting to find where they left off.

"Okay, so when Sir Daniel asks for me, you stand up and answer for me, and I'll do the same for you," Tara whispered. "Got that?"

Astra nodded and continued reading. A few minutes passed and after the tutor gave Lena another battle to plan, he turned his attention to her sisters. He blinked at them curiously, trying to figure out what was off, and then it hit him. "Okay, time to go over what you learned this morning. Which one of you can tell me which two sets of marquises were brothers? Astra?"

Tara stood up, barely able to contain her smirk. "It was…"

"No, sit down," the tutor said. Tara's face went red as she complied, watching her sisters out of the corner of her eye; Astra was frozen solid while Lena had turned to look at them in the wide-eyed shock she seemed to have learned from their father. "I asked for Astra. Now come on, tell me which marquises were brothers."

The girl stood and couldn't look her tutor in the eyes directly. "The first and third were brothers, as well as the seventh, eighth, and ninth," she replied quietly.

"Good. Now I don't know _why_ the two of you thought I wouldn't notice, but I did. I'm not an idiot."

"…but how…?" Tara sputtered.

"If I can tell the two of you apart while you're in your identical practice armor, then I can tell you apart when you're in your normal clothes," he replied sternly. The tutor pinched the bridge of his nose in his irritation, right underneath a metal plate that sat between his eyes. "Please don't try this again. I don't care if you share clothes, because frankly that's normal, but take up acting lessons before you try impersonating one another in front of me." He watched as the girls fell into their separate personalities: Astra trying to be as small as possible and Tara being wholly flabbergasted. "Would you like me to let you study a bit longer?"

"Yes please," the twins responded. They returned to their books, defeated for the time being.

* * *

><p>Lessons had ended for the day and the girls went back up to the nursery to play a short while before dinner. When they arrived, they found the Marchioness there changing out Sterling's nappy and replacing his baby's dress with one not smeared in the cake he had with tea.<p>

"How were lessons?" she asked as her daughters went to go play.

"They were fine," Lena said. She wasn't going to be the one to mention the twins' failed prank, but she wasn't going to give Astra the opportunity to confess right off the bat. "Sir Daniel gave me three battlefield problems to solve and I finished them all."

"That's great!" the Marchioness replied cheerily. She took her son off the changing table and turned to face the girls, only for her face to morph into a frown. "Astra, Tara, you were not wearing one another's dresses at lunchtime. What's going on?"

"Oh, we were just having a bit of fun, Mama," Tara grumbled, setting up some blocks. "Sir Daniel didn't think it was funny."

"Well just don't think that you're fooling anyone," Mama scolded. "I gave birth to you—I _know_ my girls."

"Yes, Mama," Astra nodded as she had her toy unicorn jump over Tara's block wall. She waited until after the Marchioness put their brother down to play and left the room before she pouted at her sister. "I _told_ you we'd get in trouble."

"At least we weren't trying to trick Mama," Tara sniped. She watched as Sterling crawled over and toppled the block wall, babbling happily as he did so. "Sterling! No! Don't do that!" She picked him up by the middle and dragged him over to the stuffed animals, where she dropped him in face-down. "Stars, babies are stupid."

"…and they grow up stupid if their sisters keep throwing them around," Lena scolded. She rescued Sterling from the toy pile and brought him over to her dolls, where she was having a tea party. The toddler sat down patiently in the toy chair and happily hugged the little doll his eldest sister handed him. "Mama said you have to be _careful_ with babies."

"I didn't put him in the block bin this time," Tara defended. Lena balled up her hands into fists and put them on her hips, intensely cross. She was just about to continue her lecture when the Marquis burst into the room.

"Don't mind me; just need to look out the window," he said, crossing the nursery quickly, his cloak billowing out behind him. He peered through the glass, a judgmental glare on his face. "Astra, starlet, come over here please. I want to know if you can see this."

"Okay, Papa," she replied. The little girl ran over to her father's side and climbed up on top of the toy chest by the window so as to press her nose against the glass. The Marquis looked over at his daughter and blinked.

"Tara, don't think you can replace your sister if I call for her," he huffed. "Just because you look the same doesn't mean you're interchangeable."

"…but Papa…"

"No buts. Now, can you see the topiaries from here?"

"Yeah…?"

"Now what does the one look like, the leftmost?"

"Uhh… like Old Gallifreyan…? What does it say, Papa?"

"Never you mind; thank you, Tara. Now I know I'm not just seeing things. Looks like I need to have a word with the new help we have with the gardens." With that the Marquis glowered his way back out of the room, leaving the girls speechless.

"…woah. Papa can't tell us apart…" Tara marveled. "Our dresses are different for _Papa_."

"Maybe he just wasn't paying attention because he was angry at whoever did the thing to the topiary," Astra suggested. She looked back out the window and squinted. "I wish I knew what that said. It looks complicated. Can you read it Lena?" Her sister came and joined her, scrunching her nose as she read.

"I can, but I don't know what it means. Do you think it's something rude?"

"It must be if Papa's that upset…"

"Astra! _We're assigned colors because of **Papa**_!" Tara repeated. "This means it _works_!" She brushed off Sterling, who had crawled over to her side and began tugging on the hem of her dress in a demand to be picked up, and rushed over to her sisters. "We can still get away with fooling Papa!"

"I'm not wearing another one of your dresses again," Astra frowned. Her twin simply hopped about the nursery in glee.

"You don't have to do anything, oh cool, oh cool, oh **_cool_**!" Tara shrieked. "This is going to be so much fun!" She only stopped her ecstatic giggling when Lena pelted her in the back of the head with a doll. A fight soon developed, which the Marchioness interrupted when she came back to fetch her youngest and instead found Tara in a choke-hold and Astra trying to keep their brother far from the fray. Both Tara and Lena were grounded for a week with no dessert.

* * *

><p>The Marquis carefully examined himself in the long mirror, making sure everything was in place before he left. In an hour he would begin the long, annoying ride out to the capital and he at least wanted to appear as if he cared. When everything seemed in order, he knocked on the door to the nursery.<p>

"Starlets, I'm coming in," he announced. As soon as he opened the door, his daughters rammed into his legs in an attempt to get in as many hugs as possible before he left.

"You're just going to the capital! We can go too!" Lena demanded. "It's not dangerous at all!"

"I'm going to a conference, so while it's not dangerous, that is true, I'm afraid you'll find it very boring," the Marquis said. He knelt down to be at eye-level with the children and hugged his girls. Once he was done, Sterling was finally able to catch up and waddled over for a hug of his own. His father picked him up and stood, chuckling wistfully, knowing full-well that before they knew it his kids would be demanding to stay at home instead. "Just keep your mama company until I return, okay?"

"Okay," the girls chorused. They rushed back to their toys, ready to get in as much playtime before their lessons as possible. The Marquis bounced the toddler in his arms and poked his nose.

"You behave for your mama as well, alright?" he told the boy, who babbled in reply. As the toddler began to grab at his father's whiskers, the Marquis raised his voice. "Oh, and Tara? Come here please."

"Yes, Papa," the girl replied. She bounded up to the Marquis and waited for his attention, which came with a double-take.

"Astra, I thought I said the other day that you're not to try to act like you're interchangeable," he said firmly. He watched as his daughter tilted her head.

"What do you mean by that, Papa?" she asked. The Marquis looked at her—brown hair in a long braid, a pale green dress, and her mother's dark eyes—and then glanced over at his other two daughters. Yes, that was Lena there, but the other twin was there… _in blue_. He closed his eyes and cursed in the ceremonial tongue.

"Okay, Astra, Tara, _Astara_, I don't care which one you are anymore; just work all this tomfoolery out of your system by the time I return, alright?"

"Yes, Papa," the girl in front of him giggled. He passed her Sterling and left in a huff, genuinely upset although trying not to let his emotions get the best of him. As soon as she was sure her father was out of earshot, Tara dropped her brother on his rear end and, while ignoring his crying, laughed hysterically.

"Tar_a_…" Lena growled. She stomped over and hit her sister on the back of the head before picking up their brother to calm him down. Sterling's sobs had barely even subsided before Tara's heel was in their sister's back and it was down to Astra to once again keep the toddler safe until their mother broke up the scuffle.

No dessert for a _month_.

* * *

><p>The entire ride to the capital the Marquis was grumpier than usual. Everyone in his escort was too afraid to ask and few had any guess as to what it might have been. They kept their ideas to themselves, lest they risk the wrath and ire of their lord and a scolding in a language so ancient it seemed to make the sky above bend at his mercy.<p>

* * *

><p>AN: I've always been interested with the concept of identical twin shenanigans, since all the twins I was ever acquainted with until high school were fraternal. Needless to say, there's always ways to be able to tell identical twins apart, and Johan will get better at it. One day. He's trying though.


End file.
